A Perilous Perusal
by Wendi 'Triplet Mom' Sotis
Summary: On the morning following the proposal at Hunsford, while perusing Darcy's letter, Elizabeth's walk places her—as well as Darcy—in peril.  Regency, D&E, PG-13, One-shot, Complete, Average Angst.


On the morning following the proposal at Hunsford, while perusing Darcy's letter, Elizabeth's walk places her—as well as Darcy—in peril. Regency, D&E, PG-13, One-shot, Complete, Average Angst.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta team: Gayle (scmema) and Robin (scifilady10)

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><p><strong>A Perilous Perusal<strong>

_By Wendi_

All was black. There was a heavy, trembling weight upon her, pressing more firmly against her lower half, but pinning her upper body as well. It was not painful, in fact the pressure was pleasing—she felt enveloped in its firm, almost caressing, warmth. It was comforting; she had never before felt this safe.

Elizabeth wished only to cuddle closer into this blanket of tranquility and sleep in the soothing sense of contentment that she was experiencing as a direct result of the intimate contact, but _the voice_ would not allow it. Hearing this voice, bathed in anguish and repeating her name, she was powerless to resist obedience to its desperate pleas, if only to relieve the suffering of the person attached to the sound. Though she struggled to awaken, she found it impossible to do so.

Where was she and how did she get here? What had happened that _the voice_ was begging for G-d's assistance?

The voice continued to speak. Beyond the heartfelt prayers, it went on to express such tender feelings - to apologize for misdoings, to explain the reason behind misunderstandings, and to take the blame for everything that had gone so terribly wrong. This declaration continued for quite a while. As she listened, she learned a great deal about the person making this proclamation, but she could not attach a name to the details of the life of which she was hearing.

The beginning of the stream of words seemed familiar somehow, but never before had she heard them said aloud. When she had perused _the letter_, her inner voice had been so very harsh and bitter as she had read similar words to these, but _this_ voice was full of remorse and regret.

_What letter?_ A trace of a memory pulled at her mind, dancing around the outskirts of her consciousness, but was still out of her grasp.

A powerful scent invaded her awareness. Oh, how she loved this exotic fragrance! It was enticing and inviting… spicy and distinctive… strong and virile. It had always made her dizzy with a glowing warmth that spread within her, accompanied by a feeling that somehow mimicked hunger, but was a sensation that she did not recognize well enough to name. The aroma seemed more potent now than ever before, and being so, it made her body's response stronger than any she had ever yet experienced.

Instinctively, she knew this scent belonged to a man—_the_ man whose figure was so compelling that she had to constantly remind herself not to stare whenever she had been in company with him. She had often caught herself examining the powerful muscles of his arms, back and legs, flexing beneath the expertly tailored and extremely well-fitting clothing he wore. She had imagined that under that fine cloth was the athletically chiseled flesh as erotically portrayed in the famous sculptures of Greek gods and those of _David_ and _The Thinker_. Before too many moments would pass, she would recall that these were highly improper thoughts for a lady and would tear her eyes away, chastising herself—reminding herself that _he_ thought her not handsome enough to tempt him.

It truly was a shame this delicious scent and magnificent form had to be connected with _him_.

_But who was he?_ Elizabeth could not remember in the darkness that surrounded her mind—but _the voice_ continued to break through the haze.

As she concentrated on the scent once more, suddenly _the voice_ sounded more familiar, and at the same time more foreign. She knew that _the voice_ should not sound so tender, so loving—his words should not be this adoring and affectionate—not when she had been used to its arrogant and haughty manner. Even in his proposal, it had been…

_Proposal? _

"_In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you," _the declaration echoed through the darkness.

Had they been uttered in a different tone of voice, his pronouncement would have been quite moving, and at first she _had_ heard only the words, not grasping the tone that had been used to pronounce them. Confused by the sentiment attached to these phrases, she had hesitated. Elizabeth remembered that for the briefest of moments, part of her had wished to accept him. The thought of being his wife, and all that she imagined that would entail, had sent her pulses racing. She had coloured, embarrassed at her wantonness, knowing full well that a true lady would never even imagine how it would feel to be held in those arms or have those lips upon her. Obviously, her silence had encouraged him to continue.

When his agitated but lofty tone of voice had come to the forefront of her awareness, along with the conceited countenance he openly displayed, Elizabeth had realized that he perceived himself as doing her a great favor. The accompanying proclamations had been insulting and demeaning, and it had not been long before the reasons for her hesitation were completely forgotten. The moment he had ceased his speech, she had refused him outright, and then they had argued over her motives for rejecting his suit.

She had not seen him again until this morning when he handed her the letter he had written to her… _the letter_ again! It was becoming clearer now.

He had handed her his letter, and she had begun to peruse it almost immediately as she had walked the grounds of Rosings Park. The whirlwind of emotions that had beset her mind as she had read his words upon the pages had been staggering, and Elizabeth had walked on, not paying much mind to her surroundings. Had she been paying attention, she would surely have noticed that she had wandered onto the ledge that in days past she had avoided due to its looking quite precarious—but not today.

Elizabeth had stopped and startled when she had heard Mr. Darcy call out to her—_Mr. Darcy!_—and she had turned toward the sound of his voice. The last thing she could remember clearly was the gentleman's panicked expression as he had moved quickly toward her, his hands reaching out to stop her from falling. But he had not been near enough. What followed was all confusion, and before she could make sense of anything at all, she had felt the impact of something quite large falling upon her. It had knocked the breath from her lungs, and the entire world had turned black.

As she lay there in darkness, Elizabeth heard Mr. Darcy's voice continue for quite a while. Though, in her confused state, she could not fully understand the meaning of what he was saying, she found reassurance in the deep baritone timbre and the caress of his breath on her skin.

Something tickled her face, and though she could not reach up to brush it away, she felt fingers—_his_ fingers—gently accomplish the task.

It was an embarrassment for Elizabeth to realize that even when her hatred for him had been at its highest level, his touch had always sent a pleasant quiver throughout her body, whether an accidental brush of the hand or an expected movement as part of a dance. Elizabeth was surprised that his fingers remained upon her face, stroking her cheek.

Mr. Darcy's voice broke as he begged her once more to awaken. She felt something wet upon her lips and the moisture seeped between them. Elizabeth realized from the salty taste that it was a tear. This astonishing discovery could only mean one thing—despite what she had tried to convince herself was true, Mr. Darcy _did_ truly care for her. This thought startled her so forcefully that the darkness began to lift.

_**~%~**_

Upon his arrival at Rosings a fortnight ago, Darcy had, as was his yearly custom, ridden the estate and found that heavy rains had caused landslides in certain areas of the woods. So today, when he saw Elizabeth standing upon a certain ledge, he knew for certain that the earth beneath her had become unstable.

Perhaps if he had _not_ called out her name in his panic upon seeing her peril, commanding her to move away from the ledge, she would have continued walking and come away unharmed—but it was a possibility of which he would never know the outcome, for instead of having warned her away from the danger, he startled her, and she froze in place. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and then he felt as if his heart was being torn from his chest as the ground below Elizabeth's feet had simply disappeared, taking her down the steep cliff-side along with it.

Even though he knew it was dangerous, he was not able to stop himself from moving close to the edge to discover Elizabeth's fate. When he saw her down below and noticed that she was moving, he felt a surge of relief… that is, until the ground below his _own_ feet gave way and he began to fall.

Darcy tried to slow his descent so that he would not harm her further, for he was able to ascertain that he was indeed headed directly toward Elizabeth. He tried to take hold of several tree limbs and bushes, turning him this way and that, and realized too late that these actions were another of his mistakes when a tree of medium thickness came loose and began to follow him down the hill.

His landing, which was directly upon Elizabeth, ended in mixed results. The good of it was that his body had shielded hers from the falling tree. A large rock near to his left side had taken the brunt of the tree's impact and was now supporting most of its weight. The tree had eventually settled on his lower back, and it was wedging his lower body against Elizabeth's. Darcy said a prayer of thanks that, by the grace of G-d, the tree had _not_ caused much damage to either of them. He was able to move his legs and could feel Elizabeth move slightly beneath him. At least he was able to prop himself up onto his elbows to take some of his weight off of her, allowing her to breathe more easily.

The downside was that the collision of his body against hers seemed to have forced all of the breath from her lungs, and she had fainted. Not too alarmed at first, Darcy tried to revive her, but after several minutes with no response from Elizabeth, his panic rose anew. She was breathing now, he knew—he could feel her chest rise and fall against his own—but she would not awaken. He feared that he had, by falling upon her, injured her more than he originally had thought. Darcy could, at least, turn her head a little to see that she had no obvious injury there, but he could not move the tree off of himself to accomplish a more thorough examination of her state of health.

His mind whirled with seemingly random thoughts. Within only a few moments, it was as if his life had passed before his eyes and a great realization came upon him… the meaning of what his parents had attempted to tell him years earlier suddenly became clear!

His happiness was inevitably tied to those he loved. If they were healthy and happy, then he would be able to experience true happiness himself. The only thing of true lasting value in life was love… the familial love he had felt for his parents and aunt and uncle, the brotherly love he felt towards his sister and cousins; he had always known these relationships were important—but this all consuming, romantic love for Elizabeth was now more precious than _anything_ in his world! Seeing her in this injured state made him aware that the actual depth of his feelings for Elizabeth ran much deeper than he had ever thought was possible. Against all of his former beliefs, it was something that he would never wish to be without, even if she could never love him in return.

His mother had told him that love was a gift from G-d that should be cherished and honored. One would think that he _should_ have learned this from watching the example his parents had set, but the time he had been spent at school, away from his parents and in the society of those who believed the opposite of his parents' views, had allowed his parents' beliefs to be quite easily outweighed by other, more popular, opinions.

Darcy's mother had died when he was just a boy. Witnessing his father's despair upon his mother's death was shocking to one who had always been told, "Gentlemen _do not_ cry!" Yet he had come across his father on multiple occasions during those first few days and watched as the tears ran down his face! He had overheard his mother's sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, ridiculing his father, exclaiming that he was a weak-minded fool while attributing several other rather demeaning and unmanly appellations to the brokenhearted Mr. Darcy.

As a result of these incidents, at the tender age of thirteen, Fitzwilliam Darcy had sworn that he would _never_ allow himself to fall in love with a woman the way his father had loved his mother!

Over time, he had watched his father lose the stamina and vitality for which he had been known while his mother had been alive, and it had only deepened his determination in this regard. Darcy had attributed it all to his father's pining over the loss of his wife.

He would always regret how he had acted the last time he had seen his father at the time of his graduation from Cambridge. When his father had joined him there to witness the occasion, renting a house near the university for several weeks, young Darcy had been shocked at the drastic changes he had seen in his father's appearance since the last time he had seen him. Early the morning following the graduation ceremony, when the young man had stumbled into the rented house after spending the night in celebration with a group of fellow graduates, old Mr. Darcy had confronted his son, telling him that such behavior was unacceptable, and lecturing him on the duty of upholding the honor and integrity of his family name.

Young Darcy's tongue had been loosened quite thoroughly by drink, and the anger that had been building over the years since his mother's death spilt forth in a detailed recitation of what he had perceived as the elder man's weaknesses. To this day, he could not forgive himself for speaking in such a way to _anyone_, let alone his own father and the head of his family, and the experience had prevented him from imbibing to excess ever again.

Only now, at this very moment, did the son even begin to understand the concepts that his father had shared with him during his reply to those accusations on that morning so long ago! His father had defended the love he had shared with his wife, wishing for his son and daughter to someday experience the same sort of love with their future spouses. But at the time, the son had thought it a _curse_ and he had left for his grand tour the following morning with barely a word spoken to his father.

It was a dreadful memory which had tortured him every day since it had occurred. The young man had written a letter of apology, specifically for _voicing_ such things, but not even implying that he had not meant the terrible words that had been uttered. Though his letter had been posted upon reaching his first port, young Darcy never knew whether or not he had been forgiven, or even whether his father had received his communication. Before he had left for the second stage of his tour, a note from his uncle was received, begging for his return home—Mr. Darcy had died.

Regret had weighed heavily upon the young man as he returned to England. He had re-doubled his efforts in upholding the honor of his family name as a sort of penance for dishonoring his father. His Aunt Catherine had preyed upon his sense of duty, drilling him with what she determined was to be expected of him—but she did not always make sense. Darcy had twisted her words of duty and honor around his own desires and prior self-vows.

His decision had been made—he would marry to fulfill his duty. He would choose a wife to increase the Darcy wealth, consequence, and connections—_never_ for affection; but his duty to the estate would prevent his marrying his cousin Anne as his aunt wished, for Anne was too sickly to provide an heir.

Though he had come up with many excuses as to why he had not chosen a wife from among the _ton_ over the prior five years, it had _not_ been a struggle to avoid romantic love—at least not until last autumn. When he had visited his friend Charles Bingley at his new home near a tiny village of little consequence to anybody except those who lived there, Darcy had met a beautiful country miss with the finest eyes he had ever seen, and a manner so perfect in mixture of sweetness and archness that almost instantly, and without effort, had Miss Elizabeth Bennet's charms ensnared his wounded heart.

Instead of cherishing the love that was growing within his breast, as his parents had attempted to teach him to do, he had spurned it. When the feeling had persisted, he had fought to repress it. He had never expected that during this time, his behavior toward Elizabeth and those that she loved had quite ruined her opinion of him!

So busy was he in his denial that he had not even recognized that true love had blossomed between Bingley and Miss Jane Bennet—but he had to admit that even if he had, it would not have stopped him from working to separate them. Now Darcy could see that though he had convinced himself that his intentions had been honorable, a small part of him had purposely set out to prevent a match that would have brought him into frequent contact with Elizabeth!

Yes, _now_ he could see clearly all the things that he had been too foolish and too blind to see before! Elizabeth could not have been more correct in her assessment of his character than she had been last night!

What arrogance he had shown to pretend to know what had been best for Bingley! Who was _he_ to decide whether Miss Bennet had loved his friend in return?

To make matters worse, he could also see that after he had finally admitted to losing the battle with his own foolish vow of never to love, not once had he doubted that Elizabeth would accept him. He honestly had felt the honor would be all _hers_! What conceit!

Yes, Elizabeth had been wrong about Wickham, but that had been his own doing as well. He had thought himself _above_ going out of his way to protect those so wholly unconnected to him. What would it have taken—a few minutes perhaps—for him to warn the shopkeepers and gentlemen of Meryton against Wickham's depraved nature? Instead, he had allowed Wickham to impose himself upon the entire neighborhood, and worst of all, upon his beloved Elizabeth.

Earlier this morning, after handing Elizabeth his letter, he had walked the grounds of Rosings, hoping to convince himself of some good coming from her refusal, repeating the same objections he had used for months to keep himself from pursuing her.

But the moment he had seen the ground disappear from beneath Elizabeth's feet, he _knew_!

_Now_ he knew that none of what he had used to dissuade himself from her, even only a few minutes ago, was truly important—her lack of fortune, her lower social status, her limited connections, her family's want of propriety, or even her belief in all of the terrible allegations that the rascal Wickham had accused him of which had caused her to doubt his character—_none_ of these things really mattered!

_Now_ he could believe what his mother's brother, the Earl of Matlock, had told him upon his return from his abbreviated grand tour—his father had kept his condition hidden from his children for years and this _illness_ had been responsible for his steady decline! Truly the memory of his love for his wife, and his wish to see the result of that love—their children—grow and develop, had kept Mr. Darcy alive for much longer than his doctors had expected.

_Now_ he could understand that his father's wish for his children to love their partners in life would be the greatest of blessings!

_Now_ he could see that loving Elizabeth was an honor, and if she could ever love him in return, it would be the best gift possible! Even if his love remained unrequited, his love for her had made him a _better_ man—_not_ a weaker one as he had always believed it would!

It was the lesson his parents had attempted to convey to him all those years ago… but had it been learned too late?

Had his abominable pride ruined his only chance at true happiness?

Darcy tried to blink the tears from his eyes as he gazed at the pale face of the woman he loved so very dearly. A breeze moved a few strands of Elizabeth's hair across her face, and he shifted slightly so that he could brush them from her cheek. How he longed to witness her smile, or see her eyes sparkling with wit or mirth—or flash in anger—even if the latter was directed at him.

His voice cracked with emotion as he begged her to be well and continued to gently caress some loose sand from Elizabeth's velvety skin. A few tears refused to remain contained any longer, one of which he watched fall upon her silky lips.

A few seconds later, Darcy saw the tip of her tongue protrude slightly to taste his teardrop, and then her long lashes fluttered open.

_**~%~**_

The darkness continued to lift, and Elizabeth found she was able to move, though her range was limited. She opened her eyes and blinked to clear her vision, only to find Mr. Darcy staring back at her from very close range. Was _he_ the comforting weight that she had wished to snuggle closer to?

She blushed deeply. "Mr. Darcy?"

The sunniest smile that Elizabeth had ever seen dawned across the gentleman's face, rendering him more handsome than ever. "Miss Bennet!"

Confused by his breathtaking smile in addition to his dizzying scent and the delightful feeling of his body pressed so firmly against hers, Elizabeth gasped and said, "You have dimples!"

Though she had thought it impossible, his smile widened further. "So I have been told by my sister."

Elizabeth stared at him a little longer and then blushed again. "I apologize for staring, sir… it is just that… I have never seen you smile before."

"Never?" His smile faded as she shook her head. "Of course, I am certain you are correct. As I have recently told you, I do not perform well to strangers, but I assure you that I was smiling on the inside whenever I have been in your presence. If it pleases you, I will make every effort to smile on the outside more often. Are you well, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth blinked a few more times while asking herself what he could possibly mean by his statements after all of the harsh, and apparently undeserved, barbs she had hurled at him the night before, but then decided that she should feign indifference and answer his question. "I suppose I am as well as one could be after rolling down a cliff. Will you please remove yourself from my person, sir?"

The teasing tone of her voice eased his worry over her health, and Darcy was becoming excessively aware of her physically and their positions relative to each other. Only a few inches separated their faces, and their chests were brushing with every breath. His hips were pinning her legs beneath him very firmly, and the tree trunk was across his waist, which was located directly above her hips. "No matter how much I would like to honor your request, madam, I cannot. There is a tree lying across my back, holding us both in place."

Her eyes widened as concern spread across her countenance, "Are you well, sir?"

It took all of his will to resist an acute compulsion to kiss the alarm from her features. "I am as well as one could be after rolling down a cliff and having a tree resting on one's back, Miss Bennet." His eyes sparkled mischievously as he threw her words back at her.

She stared at him, dumbfounded to be witness to this teasing side of him that she never before had known to exist. Was _this_ the same Mr. Darcy that she had come to know? After several moments, she remembered herself. "Your back! Has it been injured by the tree, Mr. Darcy? Can you move your legs?"

"I can move them. Most of the weight of the tree is being supported by the rocks," he glanced to his left, "which I must say has most likely spared my back severe damage, but it seems the tree is wedged quite firmly between them. After a few attempts at lifting the tree enough to roll it off the rocks, I fear I cannot find the leverage necessary to do so without crushing you, and even then success would be doubtful. We will have to wait for assistance."

Elizabeth's pallor returned. "_Assistance_ means witnesses, Mr. Darcy."

"I am quite aware of that fact, Miss Bennet, but I have no alternative to offer. Colonel Fitzwilliam's tour of the park had been cut short yesterday. This morning he had informed me of his plans to tour this area. I have confidence in his discretion… as long as he can manage alone."

"Do you think he will not be able to?"

"I cannot be certain, but it _is_ a fairly large tree, Miss Bennet."

During the silence following his statement, Darcy found his mind wandering. Ever since he had been assured of Elizabeth's well being, even his previous train of thought could not prevent Darcy from becoming physically affected by the intimacy of the situation. There were many things about this woman that could induce in him a physical reaction to her mere _presence_ in the same room—he sometimes felt like a boy of fifteen when she was near him. Not only had her physical appearance affected him, but also her scent had always driven him to distraction, and her touch—heaven help him! The simple act of taking her hand to help her into a carriage or lead her during a dance had made his blood run so hot he had thought it might be his undoing on more than one occasion.

But now! With Elizabeth pressed firmly against him, their faces so close he was able to feel her sweet breath upon his face, her tempting lips barely inches away from his, her breasts brushing his chest with her respiration and his own—and though he had attempted to control it, his rate of breathing had become steadily more rapid as time had passed. He was intently aware of every one of her muscle's movements, especially the thigh that was pressed against his…

"Mr. Darcy, I am experiencing some discomfort and require assistance. The ribbon of my bonnet has somehow remained tied through this ordeal, and the bonnet seems to have fallen beneath me. The ribbon is being pulled tightly against the side of my neck…"

Darcy's eyes flew open wide. "I apologize for not noticing it sooner, Miss Bennet. If you will permit, I will have to shift to see if I can reach the end…" After several attempts he shook his head. "I have only proven that I cannot reach it by this method. Can you manage to leave the ribbon where it is?"

Elizabeth closed her eyes. "I have already tried to do so, but I believe it is beginning to cut into the skin, sir. Is there nothing else you can think of to remedy this situation?"

He thought for a few moments, examining her neck. "Perhaps my teeth?"

"Your _teeth_?" The shocked look in her eyes was almost amusing.

"Yes—I can attempt to untie the ribbon, but first I will have to find it. Unless you can think of an alternative?"

She closed her eyes again and admitted, "No, I cannot… and I am uncomfortable enough to permit it, sir—if you are willing?"

Truly, he had tried his best to behave himself in the attempt to take hold of the end of the ribbon between his teeth. If his lips did nip her neck, it had been done _accidentally_ while making the effort to free her from the bonnet without harming her delicate skin with his teeth, of course.

Darcy froze at the gasp that escaped from Elizabeth's lips. Looking for guidance, he straightened his neck so that he could see her face. She seemed… dazed. In the pursuit of loosening the ribbon, could he have tightened it instead and she was now being choked?

"Miss Bennet, did I harm you?" he blurted out with no little amount of agitation.

Elizabeth blinked several times before recovering herself and, speaking in a hoarse voice while blushing furiously, she answered, "I am well."

No—what his instincts told him could not _be_! She could _not_ be affected by him with anything but disgust… could she? Darcy cleared his throat, and with an emotionless look upon his face he spoke in the haughty manner that she had been more used to. "Miss Bennet, do you wish me to continue the attempt to free you from the bonnet?"

Elizabeth stared at him with her mouth open for some moments before declaring, "You do that when you are unsure of what to do!"

His face coloring, he asked, "I cannot imagine to what you refer."

"Your expression, so full of disdain, and the superior tone of voice that I have been witness to since the first moment of our acquaintance—you use it to hide discomfort!" she said—astonishment apparent in her tone and upon every feature.

Even if he had not visibly flinched, being in such close quarters, she would have felt it. His eyes revealed how tortured he felt at being exposed.

He watched as her look softened. "Yes," he whispered.

"Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Darcy. It seems I have been mistaken in _all_ of my opinions of you, sir, and I apologize."

Her eyes captured his, and he did not think he would ever be able to move them away again. "What do you mean?" he asked in a more tender tone that he had been using during this encounter.

"You have just proven that what I thought was arrogance and disdain in your character has been something else entirely. I have read your letter several times as I walked the grounds of Rosings this morning, and I have come to the conclusion that until today, I did not know myself.

"I have been wrong about so many things—Mr. Wickham, for one. I am heartily ashamed of myself for being vain enough to believe him. I never had thought that I could be flattered into believing such horrible lies, and yet I was. Had I been in love, I could not have been blinder!"

Her last sentence caused a pang within her own breast—could it have been love at first sight that had been so cruelly disappointed at the first words she had heard Darcy utter that had led her to dislike him so completely, with very little cause? Was it not said that there is only a fine line between love and hatred?

"You are not?" Darcy interrupted her thoughts.

"I am not what, sir?" she looked at him questioningly until a moment later when understanding dawned on her. "In love with Mr. Wickham? No, most definitely not. There was never any danger of _that_!"

She was intrigued by the expression of relief that fell across his features at her words. Could he still care for her, even after her harsh words to him last evening?

"You have explained what happened with Mr. Bingley and Jane, and though I cannot forget that you have broken my sister's heart, I can understand the sentiments behind what you have done. If Mr. Bingley had seemed to feel less for my Jane, I would have warned her against _him_ as well, to prevent her from being hurt. I assume now that you know the truth, you _will_ endeavor to correct this mistake, will you not, Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes – yes, I have every intention of doing so! Bingley will not return from Scarborough for another two months complete, but when he does, I have every intention of confessing all to him. Miss Bennet, I am heartily ashamed of the suffering that I have caused them both."

She nodded. "You must allow me to apologize for all that I said to you last evening, Mr. Darcy."

Shock was apparent on his face. "But you are completely blameless on all counts, Miss Bennet. It is I who should be apologizing for what I said yesterday, and for the way I conducted myself then _and_ in the past. My behavior deserved your every reproof and more—in fact you have been more generous towards me than I deserve. Except for the very beginning of my speech, I am sorry for every word I uttered last evening. Your words have convinced me that I had long ago lost sight of what is truly important in life. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit, away from my parents' influence. I cannot thank you enough for proving to me how insufficient were all my pretensions—in every facet of my life."

A silence settled over them once again. Elizabeth examined his face trying to judge the level of honesty behind his statements. Could a few words uttered by her have instigated such a profound change in such a man as Mr. Darcy? "I see we should not argue over who is more to blame, Mr. Darcy, for with both our stubborn natures, I believe we could go on like this for days on end! Why do we not begin our acquaintance anew, if you do not despise me after all that I have said to you?"

"I could _never_ despise you, Miss Bennet." His look was filled with such tenderness, that she could not doubt his words. "It would be a great honor."

"I do believe we have made a fair beginning in that direction this morning; do you not, sir?" She smiled.

Gratitude shone from his eyes before he remembered the task that he had abandoned to this conversation. "Shall I try to free you from the ribbon once again?" Darcy asked.

"Yes! I think it is the only way we can solve at least _one_ uncomfortable aspect of this situation."

After a minute or two with no results—or at least none in relation to the bonnet's ribbon—Darcy lifted his head and whispered hoarsely, "Do you have any further suggestions?"

Elizabeth blushed at the intensity of his expression and looked away, her eyes darting around so quickly that they could have settled on nothing in particular. A short while later, she met his eyes once again and, giggling quietly, she raised one eyebrow and responded. "You must excuse me for laughing, sir. I have been thinking, and I do have an idea. At first, I hesitated to suggest it since it would put us in an even more compromising position, but then I realized just how silly that thought was in light of the events so far today."

"Please explain."

"If you take hold of the ribbon as I arch my back and lift myself from the ground, perhaps you can pull away the ribbon from my neck so that it loosens in that way."

Darcy closed his eyes, bracing himself for what he was sure was going to be a very tempting few moments by trying to conjure a vision of Caroline Bingley, but his eyes flew open when she flexed her thigh muscle—again. He exclaimed without thinking, "You _must_ refrain from moving that leg!"

"I am sorry, Mr. Darcy! Did I harm you, sir?"

There was absolutely no way that a gentleman could explain the situation to a lady delicately—especially not to a maiden. Her thigh was strategically placed against a part of his anatomy which happened to be in a state of increasing sensitivity since she had awoken. Being so very close to the woman he loved, the area had become even more responsive every time she smiled or laughed or moved…or breathed for that matter. If only she did not smell so delightful, perhaps his efforts would be more successful! He had been struggling to control his thoughts about her proximity, but whenever she flexed her thigh muscle in a certain way, it was absolutely impossible to ignore!

What had she asked—had she harmed him? He almost laughed! _Harm_ was the furthest thing from what she had inflicted. A little pain might be useful right about now! His color rose as he replied with a simple, "No."

"It is difficult _not_ to move a little… I do not do well sitting still for any length of time as I am certain you have noticed with my squirming. I must also admit that any time I have moved that leg, you make the most intriguing sound! I cannot stop thinking of it!" Her eyes widened as she suddenly realized exactly where that leg was in relation to his body—and just what that _was_ that she felt pressed against her thigh—and she blushed the deepest shade of crimson that Darcy had ever seen.

His eyes were out of focus for a few moments before he closed them; under the circumstances it was the only thing he could do that in any way resembled his usual escapist behavior of walking away to stare out of a window. Darcy could not help himself from thinking of the implications of her statement, and her blush.

He had not realized that he had made a noise whenever she moved in that way, and he could only imagine what sort of sound it had been. The thought of exposing her to such a thing was mortifying to him—but then again, from her statement he concluded that Elizabeth had actually _liked_ hearing it enough to try to reproduce it!

It was quite obvious by her coloring that she had not understood what she was saying and had only just now puzzled out what had been happening. Elizabeth—beautiful, soft, warm, sweet, _innocent_ Elizabeth—was, at this very moment, thinking of him in _that_ way! Of course, she had been reared on a farm, and being one to enjoy the outdoors as she did, at some point she would have seen the animals… she would understand…

No! He must stop thinking on this subject! He was compromising her by just thinking such things! She had been right—he was no gentleman. Darcy took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm his racing heart. He felt it would be best to ignore her statement and turned his attention toward the task at hand. "The bonnet?"

At her nod, he leaned his head down to her neck once more, taking hold of the ribbon between his teeth. As she arched her body into him, he instinctively leaned all of his weight onto his right arm and slipped his left under her back, pulling her upper body tightly against his chest and supporting her weight as best he could.

Part of his mind was engaged in memorizing the feel of her body pressed against every inch of his own, but he forced his focus into another direction—what his Aunt Catherine would say if she could see them at this moment.

Her weight now removed from the crushed bonnet, he pulled his head back and loosened the ribbon away from her neck. With a mixture of relief and regret, he lowered her back to the ground. As he was unable to look into Elizabeth's face at this moment, his eyes were caught by the red mark on the side of her neck.

His expression must have revealed his concern, because Elizabeth asked, "Has the ribbon cut the skin?"

"I am thankful that it has not, but it looks as if it pains you. I apologize—I should have acted sooner."

"Mr. Darcy! I think we both have had more than our share of scrapes and bruises inflicted on us today! None of this is your fault; if anything _I_ am the one to be blamed. If I had not been so careless…"

"No, I will not allow you to continue, madam. I could very well reply that if I had not written that letter…"

Elizabeth began to laugh. "It seems we both need practice in this area, sir." At his confused look she continued, "Refraining from blaming ourselves for everything that goes wrong. There is nothing we can do to change the past." She hesitated, his eyes mesmerizing her for several moments. "We would spend our time much better in finding a way out of this predicament. Since so much time has passed, it seems obvious that we should not depend on Colonel Fitzwilliam's finding us. We must assume that his walk was prevented for some reason, or that he has gone in a different direction than you had expected."

"What you suggest is sensible, but I am at a loss as to what we can do."

"Perhaps wiggling is in order?"

"Wiggling?"

"Yes, I know I cannot wiggle out from beneath you sideways due to the rocks and debris, but if I wiggle my way upwards, I believe you would be lowered enough to clear the log."

Even the _thought_ of Elizabeth wiggling beneath him was almost enough to cause him to mortify himself further—and give her quite an education. "I do not think that would be wise, Miss Bennet."

Noticing that his expression had once again turned to stone, Elizabeth decided not to press the matter. They were silent for quite a while, both lost in their own thoughts.

"Miss Bennet, please believe me that I am acutely aware of your opinion on the subject I am about to bring up, but I must tell you that if after all that has happened here today, if you feel that you have been compromised beyond… that is to say, if you – if you… if Colonel Fitzwilliam is not alone or needs assistance to remove the log…

"Are you trying to say that we may be _forced_ to marry, sir? You must realize that _your_ reputation would not be damaged by any of this… please do not feel obligated to offer, Mr. Darcy. None of this was your doing. I am certain that whoever comes across us would be able to see that."

He searched her eyes—he did not know exactly what he had expected her response to be, but he did know that her words were not close to it. His expression was tortured as he answered her. "If Colonel Fitzwilliam is alone, I am certain we can hush this up. Nobody need ever know. If he is not alone… while I realize that _you_ would rather do anything other than marry me, and I do not wish to be responsible for causing you misery, I _must_ take into account your reputation. I _will_ do whatever your father expects of me. As a man of honor, I can do no less." Darcy hesitated, closed his eyes for a few moments, and then took a deep breath and exclaimed, "No—I _will_ say what is in my heart! As a man desperately in love with you, I will not allow you to be ruined. If you are forced to marry me, I wish to assure you… to promise you… that I will do my utmost to make you happy, Elizabeth, and will spend every day hoping that you will never regret becoming my wife."

It was several minutes before Elizabeth spoke. "Are you certain that you do not feel duty-bound because of this situation, sir? After all that I said last night, it would be astonishing if you would truly wish to marry me."

"Elizabeth, you must know that my affections and wishes are unchanged from what they were last night. What did you say of me that was not true? You have given me a rare gift, indeed, for which I can only thank you—a chance to see myself as I truly am so that I may endeavor to correct my faults."

Elizabeth was quiet and looked away another several minutes before saying, "If I were to marry you, I do not believe I would be miserable, sir, nor would I regret the decision."

Darcy swallowed hard and blinked a few times before saying, "I am not certain that I understand you."

"I am saying that _my_ wishes _have_ changed most decidedly, Mr. Darcy, though my affections are, I believe, the same as they have always been. When earlier I said that I did not know myself before reading your letter, I meant it. Perhaps I should have said that I never understood myself before and can now recognize why you were confused as to how I felt about you. I have recently become aware that I have spent the last few months denying my feelings for you—beginning the first night we met at the assembly. After the remark I could not help but overhear, I was disappointed in your opinion of me, and from that moment on, I chose to interpret everything that occurred between us in as negative a light as possible."

His eyes widened. "Of what remark do you speak?"

"When Mr. Bingley suggested that you dance with me, you said…"

"Oh, no! Please, I beg of you, do not repeat what I said then!" Darcy interrupted, remorse written across his every feature. "I was worrying about Georgiana and…"

It was Elizabeth's turn to interrupt. "Yes, I know. You were not in good humor and tried to be as disagreeable as possible so that he would stop pestering you to dance. You had already made several civil attempts to dissuade him and did not utter those words until all else failed. You barely glanced at me until _after_ that remark." She raised one eyebrow and asked, "Do you see what a vain creature you shall have to contend with, sir?"

He gasped. "Are you saying that you will agree to marry me, Elizabeth?"

Her eyes sparkled with something he had never seen before, hypnotizing him. "Yes, I will marry you, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy was flooded with so many powerful emotions that he could not speak for several minutes. Darcy's eyes kept being drawn to her lips as he fought to look elsewhere. "You have made me a very happy man." Several minutes more passed before he could ask, "Will you call me by my first name, Elizabeth?"

"Absolutely not!"

His heart sank. "No?"

"Sir, I can safely promise you that I will _never_ call you by your first name."

"May I ask why you will not?"

She held back a smile in reaction to his pout. "Because when I think of the name 'Fitzwilliam,' I cannot help but think of your cousin." His look of horror caused her laughter to echo through the woods.

"If that is the case, I agree with your decision wholeheartedly! But I do not wish for you to call me 'Mr. Darcy' or 'sir' when we are alone, Elizabeth."

"Perhaps I should call you 'Pumpkin' then? Or 'Fitzy'?" Elizabeth was surprised to see him turn crimson. She giggled.

"Most everyone calls me Darcy or Fitzwilliam, but Georgiana calls me Wills…"

"Do you like 'William'?" the way she said it both warmed his soul and caused a shiver down his spine in the same moment. The look in his eyes caused her to repeat it, and he did not trust himself to do anything but nod.

Elizabeth smiled brightly, a smile that Darcy had only dreamed would ever be directed at him. A few moments later, a mischievous gleam shone from her eyes as she said, "But when we find ourselves in company with Caroline Bingley, I shall only call you 'My Sweet Peach'!"

His laughter bounced off the surrounding trees, "And I shall call _you_ 'My Lemon Tart'!"

"Thank you for sharing this side of yourself with me, William. I have learned so much of you today." She blushed thinking of just _how_ _much_ she had learned, and her expression turned serious. "I thought I was dreaming earlier, but several things you have said since then have convinced me that I was not." Elizabeth hesitated for a few moments, trying to decide whether or not to touch on a subject that had continued to return to her thoughts every time they had fallen into silence. Making her decision, she said, "I am certain that your father forgave you, William."

She felt him startle. Surprise evident in his countenance, he paled before saying, "I had not been aware that I spoke of that subject aloud." He wondered if he had said it _all_ out loud.

"Oh… but you did. I had not realized that you did not mean to tell me…"

"Knowing this about me… you still agreed to marry me?"

"William you heard me, but you did not listen to what I said. I will tell you why I _know_ that your father forgave you—if you care to hear my opinion." At his nod, she continued, "Your father truly loved you, William, and judging by the fact that he tried to explain himself to you, it shows that he understood love. Do you think he would have bothered had his love for you not been unconditional? Do I expect that he was angry and disappointed in your opinion of him? Yes, I am sure he was, but he would have _forgiven_ you immediately upon your first utterances. His wish for you was proof of that! Whether or not he received your letter, he knows what is in your heart now. He _knows_." She smiled at him. "I will do my best to honor your parents' wishes for you; I know I will never stop loving you, my William."

"Elizabeth," Darcy whispered, his throat tight with emotion and eyes shining with unshed tears, "Thank you. I hope to someday be worthy of your love."

His breath caught at the look in her eyes, as they flitted to his lips and back again. As he began to lean toward her, closing the few inches between them, a melody being whistled could be heard in the distance which Darcy recognized as Colonel Fitzwilliam's favored tune. Knowing they were about to lose their privacy, he leaned in to touch his lips gently to Elizabeth's before calling out, "Fitzwilliam! Your assistance is needed! We are down here, at the bottom of the landslide!"

Elizabeth saw Colonel Fitzwilliam's head peek over the ledge. "Are either of you injured?" he called out.

"We are well, but this log is holding us captive," Darcy answered.

"I will assist you as soon as I can find a safe way down." A few minutes later, they could see the Colonel approaching, both blushing deeply at being found in such a predicament. "Are you certain you are both well?"

"Yes, quite certain. And may I assure you, Cousin, that Miss Bennet's honor is intact."

"Good," he said in an amused tone, and then began to laugh so hard he could barely breathe. After a couple of minutes, the disturbance quieted into chuckles, and he said while wiping the tears from his face, "It is quite obvious that Miss Bennet has _not_ been violated!" and his laughter began again.

This round quieted much sooner when Darcy boomed, "Fitzwilliam! What could possibly be so amusing about these circumstances? Miss Bennet and I are trapped under this tree! And what is the purpose of that last statement—to embarrass us both beyond measure? Try keeping your thoughts to yourself for once and make yourself useful! See if you can roll this log off of my back!"

"Darcy, calm down. I was only making an observation! I am sure that neither of you are aware of what I can see quite clearly from this angle. There is absolutely no need to move the log." Colonel Fitzwilliam's countenance turned quite serious as he continued. "Miss Bennet, I am sorry to ask this of you, but the answer to your problem is quite simple. I do hope my suggestion will not bruise your tender sensibilities, but I can see no alternative to my stating the facts as they now stand. If you would only move your skirts up higher and open your legs as far as you can manage…"

"_**FITZWILLIAM**_**!** What in the name of…"

"Darcy, calm yourself, man!" Colonel Fitzwilliam interrupted, "I know exactly how it _sounds_, but if Miss Bennet does what I have asked, your bottom half will be low enough to clear the log! Miss Bennet can slide upward and then once she is clear, you would be able to do the same. I would, of course, turn my back during the entire event, and stand ready in case my assistance is required, but I do not think it will be."

During Colonel Fitzwilliam's speech, the colour had drained from Elizabeth's face. Lifting her head, she could observe that the colonel was probably correct in his calculations. It was a wonder she had not noticed it earlier… but then she allowed that she _had_ been quite distracted. Smiling sweetly at her betrothed, she said, "Now that your cousin has pointed it out, I can see that Colonel Fitzwilliam is correct, my Sweet Peach."

Darcy chuckled at his cousin's shocked reaction to her endearment. "Very well, my Lemon Tart."

"Colonel?" Elizabeth arched her brow. "You may close your mouth and turn away now, please."

Colonel Fitzwilliam startled, "OH! Yes! Yes, of course." He did as he was told.

Thinking of the sound that he had been unconsciously making any time that she flexed her thigh muscle, Elizabeth lifted her head and pressed her lips to her fiancé's ear, whispering, "Concentrate on being _quiet_, my William."

With a glance at the Colonel to make certain he was still not looking in their direction, Elizabeth followed his directions, beginning with hiking up her skirts as far as she could manage. All proceeded as the Colonel had predicted. Elizabeth began to wiggle her way out from beneath Darcy.

Darcy seemed to be having a difficult time keeping his eyes closed, and Elizabeth almost laughed when she noticed some interesting expressions cross his features. At times the rhythm of his breathing increased to alarming levels, especially when certain of her body parts, which protruded above the rest, brushed his face while she squirmed past. When she was completely free, but her legs were still uncovered, she caught him sneaking a peek and quickly righted her clothing the best she could as he blushed in apology.

"All right, Colonel; I am free."

Colonel Fitzwilliam approached. "Do you need assistance, cousin, or can you remove yourself?"

"I have been holding myself aloft for hours to avoid crushing Miss Bennet with my weight, Fitzwilliam. I doubt that my arms will be of great use for at least a little while. I would appreciate your assistance."

Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh! I am so sorry…"

"Elizabeth," Darcy interrupted, amusement in his eyes, "do not even _think_ about taking the blame for any of this."

After assisting Darcy from his most uncomfortable position, Colonel Fitzwilliam assessed the situation and thought to give the couple some moments of privacy. He immediately set out to retrieve his horse. The colonel's pace was quicker than that of the newly betrothed couple—most likely intentionally—and after walking several minutes, he was out of hearing range. "I shall miss being close to you, William," Elizabeth whispered. She could see him shiver and she gazed into his eyes. Her breath hitched when she saw that he looked similar to the way he had several times earlier.

His answering whisper was hoarse, "I can assure you that it will not be for long. As soon as we change our clothing, you will be whisked away to London, and I will pay whatever price is necessary to obtain a special license. We shall be married as soon as is possible, Elizabeth!"

"But you had mentioned your arms were not well… Would you not rather rest and travel tomorrow?"

Darcy seemed a bit uncomfortable before stating, "Elizabeth, I do not wish for you to be within twenty miles of Rosings when Aunt Catherine finally comes to terms with what I have proclaimed all along—that I will not be marrying my cousin Anne."

"I do not wish to come between…"

"Aunt Catherine would react the same way no matter who I married—other than Anne. I never had any intention of following her wishes in this matter, and neither had my cousin. Anne likes you, Elizabeth. She will be happy to hear our news, and I do not think she will be as surprised as my other cousin was." He nodded at Colonel Fitzwilliam, whose pace was slowly increasing the gap between them. "Aunt Catherine will learn to live with my decision…" he cleared his throat, "preferably at a great distance."

Elizabeth's expression displayed a little anxiety. "Mama will also be very disappointed." At his fretful expression, she clarified, "I mean that she will not have at least six months to plan a grand wedding celebration, worthy of a man of your stature. I wager her reaction will be heard here in Kent! She will, no doubt, attempt to persuade us into waiting… unless we admit to what happened today… but I would much rather speak of it only to Papa."

Darcy was quiet for quite a few minutes before a smile slowly spread across his handsome face. "Shall I notify your father that we will elope to Scotland, then?"

Surprised, she raised her eyebrows high; however, when she thought it over, the idea sounded rather appealing. "But I do not have any gowns suitable for a wedding dress."

"I would like it very much if you would use the gown that you wore to the ball at Netherfield as your wedding gown, my love, and I _know_ that you have it with you." He smiled seductively. "Though, if you prefer another, I would not mind. I have never seen a more beautiful woman than you—in any gown."

Her smile matched his. "How many days' travel would it be to Gretna Green?"

Darcy did the math and a deep scowl preceded his answer, "Six days." He brooded for a few moments before continuing. He honestly did not know if he could last six days after having spent so long in such intimate proximity to Elizabeth, with her twitching thigh muscle and wiggling. Goodness, six _hours_ would be a trial! "Perhaps it would be better to marry in London after all. Do you think your parents would agree to hold the wedding at Darcy House?"

"If Caroline Bingley's opinion is to be trusted—and in _this_ matter I do not doubt that she is correct—Darcy House is very grand indeed. I think Mama would be pleased with the arrangements… and _you_ would be satisfied that all decisions will be taken out of her hands." Her impish expression almost undid him.

"I shall send my own man with a message before we leave here and have the rider wait for your father's answer. Would you like to enclose a letter of your own?" At her nod, he continued, "Please write it as soon as possible. I shall have my man stop at the parsonage to retrieve it."

"I believe, under the circumstances, your plan might be the wisest course of action." Her eyes were drawn to his lips as she moistened her own. "I would rather not have to wait six days to marry you, my William."

Darcy's eyes darkened with passion, and his breath quickened. "I quite agree, my love." With a glance confirming that Colonel Fitzwilliam's form had progressed far enough to be safely out of sight around a bend in the path, the couple expressed their agreement in a manner in which two people truly in love would find most satisfying.

_**~%~**_

Several hours later in the day, at the sound of the carriage, Elizabeth exited the parsonage with Charlotte at her side. Charlotte eyed her friend warily when Elizabeth could not hold back her laughter at seeing the cart carrying the luggage—and certain _other_ objects—following behind the carriage. As the gentlemen, and the maid they had appropriated away from the Great House to act as chaperone, stepped down, Elizabeth asked, "Is that...?"

"Yes, it certainly is." Darcy replied with a smile and a bow to the ladies. "Good day, ladies. Are you ready to depart, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth suppressed a giggle at Charlotte's dazed mien upon perceiving Darcy's warm visage. "I am. We should be on our way as soon as possible to avoid questions... before Mr. Collins returns from visiting..."

"Our aunt. Yes, he just now bid us farewell as we left Rosings, and he has stayed behind to console... I meant to say that he has stayed behind with his patroness. My men will load your trunks immediately. Does this go inside with you?" Darcy reached to take the small piece of luggage that Elizabeth was carrying, placing his hand partially over hers in the process, briefly brushing the back of her hand with his thumb and meeting her gaze at the same moment.

"Yes, please." Elizabeth blushed and released the handle, but could not look away from him. Darcy passed it off to the maid, who moved to place it inside the carriage.

Colonel Fitzwilliam came away from having a few words with the man on the luggage cart and greeted them. "Good afternoon Mrs. Collins. I hope we are not too early, Miss Bennet."

"Your timing is perfect, Colonel, thank you."

"Shall we be off, then?" Darcy asked.

Elizabeth turned to say her goodbyes to Charlotte. Darcy helped her into the carriage. Every questioning look she directed at him was met with a sly grin, but no answer. After a while, the maid and Colonel Fitzwilliam had both fallen asleep, and Elizabeth thought she would finally have an answer to this burning question. "How did you retrieve it?" she whispered.

He reached across the space between the seats, leaning forward as close as he dared. Taking her hand in his, he whispered in return, "I had my aunt's entire staff of gardeners and groundsmen haul it out of the ditch and load it on the cart while we refreshed ourselves."

"But, William..." she said a bit too loudly. Colonel Fitzwilliam stirred, and Darcy sat back with a self-satisfied smile, effectively ending their conversation for the time being.

The carriage was forced to stop, one of the horses having thrown a shoe, and after taking some tea at the nearby inn, Darcy asked Elizabeth if she would like to take a stroll down the lane while his cousin made certain that all was well for the remainder of their journey. When Elizabeth agreed, the maid walked on ahead of them, continuing to act as chaperone for the young lady.

The maid was not far enough ahead of them to avoid overhearing their conversation until they were on their return to the inn. Elizabeth asked, "William, what on earth will you do with it?"

"Of what do you speak, dearest?" he asked with mirth dancing in his eyes, obviously knowing _exactly_ of what she was speaking.

"The tree that held us captive all that time at Rosings, which you now have loaded onto the luggage cart that is following us to London!"

"My love, when we arrive at Pemberley, knowing the fondness we both have for the outdoors, I anticipate that we shall spend a great deal of time attempting to discover which of my favorite spots will be yours as well. When we do settle on a place, I will have our carpenter fashion a bench from that wood, and we shall have it situated in any way you choose. I would not allow the tree which has been so instrumental in making it possible for me to spend my life happily with you, and has been witness so very many things—including the birth of our betrothal—to lie wasting in the wilderness. We shall make good use of it, I think, and I shall carve into the handle that the bench was made especially for you—for us—so that our children and grandchildren will know that it was crafted from the tree that brought us together."

Elizabeth's eyes shined with unshed tears as she smiled brightly. "I see it has caught up to you, my love."

Darcy seemed slightly puzzled, though happily so as he traced the fingers of the hand that rested on his arm with his own. "What has, my Lemon Tart?"

She giggled at his appellation. "The romantic, sentimental side of your nature, which you worked diligently to stifle for so many years. After having kept it locked away these eight and twenty years, it has now been set loose with a vengeance! I am grateful that I will be the one to benefit from it for many years to come."

"I believe this part of my character is in its infancy, born the moment I first saw you, my loveliest Elizabeth."

With a quick look to ascertain that the maid was not observing them, and that nobody else was within sight, Darcy leaned closer and kissed Elizabeth gently, but with such great feeling that she thought her heart would burst with the love that swelled within her in response. Both became caught within the other's eyes, seeing their happy future together. Though they knew that they would have their share of trials and tribulations, they also knew that their lives would be so full of love and mutual support that neither could help but look forward to their perfect life together. Unspoken promises were exchanged in that moment, and they soon ambled in the direction of the carriage, and to London, en route to live their lives _happily ever after_.

**Finis**

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><p>Thanks for reading!<p>

Just thought I'd mention that I now have a book published on amazon. _Promises_ is similar to a story that you can read here, but it has been changed in a few ways, and has some extras. See my profile for more information.


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